


Exhaustion is a State of Being

by MeinNameIstJette



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Captain needs to take a break, Coffee, Drautos wants to give Cor the D, Fluffy, Gen, Give me a break, Glaives are sweet, Glaives are tired of this bullshit, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), M/M, Overworking, Pre-Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV, cor wants the D, cut me off a piece of that kit kat bar, delicious food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:48:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeinNameIstJette/pseuds/MeinNameIstJette
Summary: Drautos is exhausted from overworking. He doesn't know how to stop. The Glaives decide to take matters into their own hands to make sure he eats and takes at least one break every couple of days.





	Exhaustion is a State of Being

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caillieach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caillieach/gifts).



> Caillieach was wonderful and shared her huge list of prompts....and I just couldn't help myself. In fact, there are still other ones that I really want to try my hand at writing. So here's what happens when you present a list of prompts in a public setting that I so happen to be a part of. 
> 
> I did not edit this. I was wayyyyy too lazy to do so. And I apologize if the ending seems a little rushed. I didn't realise it was going to be that long!!!
> 
> No regrets though.

Titus didn’t think anything of it when Crowe had knocked on his door to drop a container of deliciously smelling food, still hot, on his desk amongst the various stacks of papers he’d been working on. She had practically slammed a fork on top of the container as she blatantly scowled at him. It had his brows knitting closer together at the display of micro-aggression -- not that this was particularly out of character. Crowe had a terrible tendency of speaking her mind and displaying exactly what she was feeling, didn’t matter who you were. Although, it should have. 

His gaze falls on the container, studying it before he’s glancing back up at the woman. There was a moment where neither of them says anything and then the moment Titus opens his mouth to speak, Crowe interjects. 

“Eat. Don’t question it. Just eat.” Then she turns and strides out. 

The abruptness of the exchange had him sitting there in irritated bewilderment, trying to ignore the pleading growl of his stomach. It also had him missing the fact that if he looked, he would be able to see a couple of heads trying to peer through his momentarily open doorway before it slammed closed. Or that they were trying to be discreet but failing with the sound of muffled laughter that Titus was clearly not fully processing.

Which was sign enough that he had let his own health and well-being take a back burner to his royally appointed duties. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. That being said, the micro-aggression office lunch debacle had completely disappeared from his mind the moment the food was in his stomach and a new set of paperwork in front of him. 

The next strange and forgetful phenomenon occurs when Titus is in-between meetings. He was currently making use of his long and strong legs as he strides from one end of the Citadel to the next. It was almost as if whoever planned these torturous days found it hilarious making everyone run from one side to the other. As if council meetings aren’t tedious enough. 

It was a good thing that on days like this he wore his lighter uniform, one that didn’t require any intricate armor or chainmail. It was lightweight and breathable which is exactly what he needed for the insufferable meetings with the council (and jogs from one side to the other). 

It’s when Titus is nearly at the meeting room that Ulric catches up with him shoving a take-out cup of coffee in his hand and dumping a baggy of what looked like Chocobo mix on his stack of papers. Titus is surprised that the take out cup of coffee remains intact despite the careless and almost aggressive exchange. His pale blues stare at the coffee as if it had offended him before Ulric’s quip comment pulls his gaze back up only to realize that the younger man had disappeared down an adjacent hallway. 

There is even less time to properly react because Nyx had appeared and disappeared in a span of seconds. 

Warping? Except Titus hadn’t heard or felt any trace of the King’s magic at Ulric’s disappearance. 

The smell of coffee distracts him from both thoughts and his weak mind forces him to take a sip, groaning lowly at the fact it was made exactly the way he liked it. He’s not sure how Ulric knew but considering this pause has him almost late for the meeting, he stores that in the back of his mind to ask later. Well, the intention was to ask later but he conveniently forgets about the entire exchange when he runs into the Marshal and is reminded of their upcoming joint proposal.

Those were not the only two occasions either. Ostium had, at some point, organized a Glaive barbeque and although Titus was holed up in his office, Lazarus and Khara had made the trek up to deliver him food. 

It was the end of the fiscal year and Titus was working non-stop for what felt like only a couple hours, trying to triple justify every single expense the Glaives had to claim. This was always a delicate process seeing as every year he’s had to fight tooth and nail to maintain their pathetic budget. If the council cut anything more than they might as well execute the entire Kingsglaive themselves. They were the only military organization that was so poorly funded it was a miracle they had won as many battles as they had. 

Titus moves to rest his forehead against the budget plans when he hears a knock at his door. This has him sitting up, straightening and then glancing at his watch. When had six in the morning turned to six in the evening?

“Come in,” Titus calls out exhaustedly. 

Did he always sound so worn out?

The thought is brief because soon Khara and Lazarus are stepping through with a plate full of meat, potatoes, rice, and various vegetable-based sides. 

His stomach makes an embarrassingly loud sound at the smell of food and if he were anyone else he would have most likely flushed. Instead, he arches a brow at the two men as they set the plate down just in front of his current project. 

“We haven’t seen you all day, Captain.” Luche comments.

Pelna hums in agreement. “We always thought that you’d die by sword not by paper.” 

This has Titus arching a brow. “This is hardly killing me. Things will settle down in a couple of weeks.”

Pelna gives Luche a look that clearly conveys a sentiment neither of them is willing to share with him, but he gets the not so discreet message. It must show on his face because Pelna seems to smile sympathetically.   
That look had been meant to discourage their pity, clearly, it had done the opposite. He wonders if this also shows on his face because both men are slowly edging towards the door. 

“Well, we’ll leave you to it then, sir,” Luche says and he’s elbowing Pelna who doesn’t even hesitate as he turns to head out of the office. Luche looks over his Captain one more time and then he follows after. He hears the door click close and when the footsteps recede far enough he sighs. One thing he can say about his Glaives, the food they brought was always damn good. He pulls the plate closer and to the side of the budget report so he can at least try and multitask. 

If Titus had been more conscious about the time, he would have been mildly embarrassed that he was still in his office after his Glaives had packed and reluctantly left. Instead, he gets up to turn on his coffee maker, moves back to sit down and forgets about that too.

A couple of weeks pass by or at least Titus thinks so. It’s only his Moogle Calendar that reminds him that he has appointments scheduled for this particular week. 

Interestingly enough the two appointments this week are with Ulric and Furia. Two different days but at the same time. This should have clued Titus in on what was going on. He’d never in his life as their Captain gotten appointments from Ulric or Furia. Typically he had to drag either man into his office to chew them out for one thing or another. 

He can’t help but wonder what they could possibly have to say to him...for an hour, no less. It was probably about each other. This has him groaning in frustration and bidding his own sanity goodbye the moment he does have to talk to the both of them together. 

Except, neither of them show up.

His momentary irritation fleeting especially when he ‘accidentally’ leans back in his chair and ‘accidentally’ close his eyes, both days. 

He had waited for fifteen minutes before taking the momentary reprieve to catch up on sleep. Sleep he realistically knew he’d never really catch up on.

It was never more than once or twice a week. None of the Glaives ever commenting on the fact that they were forced to endure harsh training the day after or the fact that Titus lectures were always half-hearted. 

Titus did wonder when the Glaives noticed. 

Was it the fact that for the past five months he was always in his office bright and early and left dead in the night after they had all gone home? 

Maybe it was the fact that a few of them had noticed he’d gone through at least two coffee machines. Used them so thoroughly that they broke down from the abuse. Perhaps it was the scragginess of his beard when he really lost track of time. It usually took one comment before he’d show up the next day groomed, appropriately. 

That had pushed him into leaving a shaving kit in his desk drawer. It was for that same reason that Titus had, perhaps, a few too many sets of clothes in another drawer. Or most of his toiletries in the closet of his office hidden behind a second set of boots. 

Titus had survived on far less than this. 

When he’d been taken in by the Empire and experimented on. He’d been pushed to the very brink of all his limits. His current lack of sleep and minimal nutrition was hardly something that Titus felt as being inconvenient despite his own outward appearance.

He was handling all of this fine. And yet, the Glaives seemed to care about his well-being for some odd reason. 

Things had been mostly tame (if tame could ever be used in regards to his Glaives), that is until the Marshal showed up at his office door late one Thursday night. 

“Captain.” Cor greets as he steps in without even being invited in. “Your Glaives are worried about you.” 

Leave it to the Marshal to get straight to the point. 

Titus frowns which doesn’t deter the Immortal, not even a little bit. The man steps further into his office as he examines things. 

“Did you hire someone to clean?” Cor hums curiously. 

Titus tries to not sound offended. “No, Marshal. I maintain this level of cleanliness myself.” 

Cor hum grows louder. “Interesting.” 

Titus’ frown only deepens as if he’s trying to figure out where this man was going with all of this. 

“Can I help you, Marshal?” Titus grunts displeased by this interruption. 

“Yes, you can start helping me by helping yourself.” Cor had made his way around his desk, around Drautos to stare out the window. 

Titus swivels in his chair trying to keep his irritation in check. “Excuse you.” 

“You’ve been excused,” Cor smirks over his shoulder a twinkle of mischief in his stormy eyes. 

Titus snaps his mouth shut at a loss for words. 

So Cor takes hold of Titus chair, turning him square to Cor, as the man plants both his hands on the armrest, and leans impressively close. 

Titus doesn’t recoil but sits his ground as he meets Cor’s gaze. 

“You better start taking care of yourself, Titus Drautos, or so help you Bahamut.” 

“I prefer Leviathan, thank you.” Titus quips back just to be petulant. 

“So help you, the sixth.” Cor corrects. “Because you’ll need all the help you can get.” 

Titus’ lip quirks up and he reaches for Cor’s hip only for that same arm to slide around the Marshal’s waist. He tugs him forward and with surprisingly little resistance as the Immortal awkwardly settles atop him. 

There is a quick moment of adjustment and then Titus’ arms are looping back around the Marshal, forehead pressed against his shoulder. 

“Come back to my place.” Cor murmurs softly and then he’s shifting forward to brush his lips against Titus’ ear. “I’ll let you fuck me.” 

Titus couldn’t vividly remember the last time he had gone to Cor’s place or the last time they had fucked. 

Cor’s breath has Titus’ eyes drifting shut as he lets out a ragged breath. One hand sliding up and under the back of Cor’s jacket at the suggestion. 

“Convincing me with sex, Marshal?” Titus huffs in slight amusement, probably the most amount of amusement he’s shown in a while. 

“Is it working?” Cor asks pulling back to take in the exhaustion on Titus’ features. 

“Maybe a little bit,” Titus admits with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” Cor exhales looking a little guilty. 

Titus shrugs. “You might not look as bad as I do but you’re getting there.” 

Cor laughs at that before pulling away and shaking his head. 

“Coming then? I need a big strong Captain to take care of me.” He jokes, his lips curving up in the handsome smirk that Titus hated to admit he liked. 

It has Titus snorting but he does get up. “Fine. You win. My Glaives win.” 

Cor’s amusement doesn't’ disappear. “I promise I won’t tell them that I convinced you with sex or the fact that Regis has first both of us to take a mandatory one day leave.” 

“What?!” Titus had not expected that. 

Cor shrugs. “We can talk about this more after we’ve had time to re-acquaint ourselves.”

Titus looks hesitant. It’s clear in the way that he takes one last look at his desk before Cor gets a heavy sigh and a shake of his head. He turns the lights off and closes the door before following after the Immortal. 

The week after no one says anything about how much better the Captain looks after the Marshal’s intervention.


End file.
